jerza love fest 2016
by thir13enth
Summary: a series of unrelated one-shots for Jerza Love Fest 2016.
1. count to five

**prompt:** hands **  
notes:** not sure what came over me for this prompt. this was supposed to be 500 words. how it turned into anything more than that is beyond me.

* * *

 **count to five**

* * *

 _i._

When her hands grip him harder, he knows that she's almost there.

It's true that he's the one on top right now, but he knows more than anyone else that she's the one that dictates his moves. Her grasping fingers, her scratching nails, her whitening knuckles, her sweaty palms - each clench, each clutch, each time she seizes his arms and each time she scores his back, he can tell she is getting closer.

He doesn't want to do anything that wouldn't end with her sighing in bliss, and although he has desires of his own, what is most satisfying to him is when she mewls his name ever so breathy into his ear, when she moans with her mouth wide open and her back arched high, when she closes her eyes tight and forgets every single thing else in the world except him.

He knows just the things that will push her over the edge - and so he rocks his hips harder, he brings his teeth down to her neck, and he rolls the bud of her breast under his thumb until she releases her grip on him and completely lets go.

.

 _ii._

His hands keep her legs spread open, and he's left no option for her but to come.

She whispers his name over and over again like a mantra. He can't really distinguish the shits, fucks, and gods from the ohs, ahs, and Jellals, but he knows he's doing a good job by the way that she smells and by the way that she quivers underneath his tongue.

She takes a deep breath, and her mouth falls open. She whimpers and then settles into a moan -

but then he places a single index finger over her lips.

"Shhh, careful now," he warns, with the slightest crook of a smile. "We can't wake my niece up. Meredy would never trust me to babysit her daughter ever again."

.

 _iii._

His hands love exploring her body, so even though he's already memorized all her curves and edges, he doesn't stop his fingers when they travel past the grace of her waist and rest over the crest of her hips.

She smiles and her eyes flutter open as she turns her head to his direction.

"Good morning," she greets him and stretches her neck forward an inch to press a kiss onto his mouth, which he more than happily returns.

He feels her hand reach for his forearm. She moves his hand further south, and his fingers slip under the lining of her underwear.

He feels her smile widen in her kiss, and he can't help the grin that forms over his lips either.

He just goes with the flow, grazing over the coarse curls between her thighs and tracing small circles around her center before he extends his middle finger and dips in.

.

 _iv._

Following wedding vows and its well-awaited kiss, there's not much else planned for the rest of the night except for whatever would happen in bed - which, with all honesty, was probably planned.

After all, Jellal knows the signs and symptoms of Erza's lust more than anything else, and when she starts pushing him towards the mattress the moment they waltz into the hotel room of their honeymoon suite, his suspicions are confirmed.

He's not complaining. He lets gravity do the rest.

He groans as she runs kisses straight down from his cheeks to his chest to his cock. When she wraps her fingers firmly around his erection, he feels a cold hard knob over his shaft and looks down, reminding himself that, indeed, she's still wearing the wedding ring he slipped over her finger earlier today.

"You still have your ring on," he tells her.

She looks at him, confused about why she should care.

"Not that I mind," he says, with a somewhat amused expression on his face, "but I just want to take preventative measures for when we get a little...rough."

She sits up and looks at him with an arched eyebrow, but after another moment, she rolls her eyes and pulls her ring off her finger, then slowly leans towards him, walking her hands up the mattress on either side of his bare chest.

"Well," she murmurs into his ear, "You _better_ be rough."

.

 _v._

Two weeks is far too long for any traveling businessman to be away from their wife - or at least too long for Jellal to be apart from Erza.

He wastes no time getting into bed. She doesn't stop him until her legs are wrapped tight around his waist and he's about to thrust all the way in.

"Oh," she says. "I need to tell you something."

It seems like an afterthought, but her face is much too flushed for it to not matter at all.

He lets out a sound in between a deep sigh and a throaty growl, and then demounts, falling onto his side next to her.

"What could _possibly_ be important than making love to you right now?" he purrs into her neck, tucking a strand of her scarlet hair behind her ear.

"I'm pregnant."

The words take the breath out of him. All he can do is repeat.

"Pregnant," and so he says.

"Yes," she confirms.

Her voice shakes. She's blushing red. Her lips are cracking from a big grin.

He still can't find the words, but he knows that his eyes and his smile are giving his thoughts away.

"And don't you tell a _soul_ about this," she threatens him.

And then she contemplates for a moment and revises. "At least, not yet." Her smile turns mischievous. "I just want to see how long it takes for Mira and Lucy to catch on."

"Erza, I-"

She extends her pinky towards him. "Pinky promise."

He looks at her for a long time, mesmerizing himself in her eyes - her brown eyes, the eyes of his partner in life, the eyes of his love forever, the eyes of a new mother...

Nothing has changed. She's still the same. He's still the same. They're still madly in love with each other.

And yet, _everything_ has changed.

He doesn't think his smile could grow any wider, but it does.

He wraps his pinky around hers.

"Promise."

* * *

such cheese. such fluff. does this even count as smut?

as always, looking forward to your thoughts,  
 **thir13enth**


	2. give and take

**prompt:** worship **  
notes:** this is porn without plot. forgive me, there's not really a point to it.

* * *

 **give and take**

* * *

There's a generous part of him that worships her — her dark eyes, her pink lips, her warm neck, her soft thigh, her scarlet hair, her every single fiber of being.

He wants to run her mouth all over her, and sometimes it's hard to determine exactly where to start when there are so many delectable places to begin. But when once he's made this difficult decision, there's nothing more delightful than rolling his tongue over her skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He wants to treat her right. He wants to make sure that she gets every bit of indulgence she wants.

And so when she asks for love, he gives it to her.

.

.

He gives it to her — even if it's before the crack of dawn and she nudges him awake because she's woken up ten minutes before her alarm:

She's split her thighs onto his hips and she rests her shaking hands onto his chest while she lifts herself up and lets herself fall back down onto his erection. His cock grows stiffer and becomes slicker with each pass inside her. She gyrates back and forth urgently, fast and faster, so that she comes before the hour, so that she beats the clock before time stops her. He helps her with an extra thrust, steadies her beat with his hands firm around her waist. He tunes out the sound of the morning traffic, the creaking of their bed, the rustle of pigeon wings outside of their apartment window, and just listens to her raspy pants, the slap of her skin on his, the squick of her wet folds around his pulsating cock.

He listens until she quivers and collapses. He listens to her breath catching up to her heart, to her whispers telling him she loves him.

He listens until the alarm screeches that it's time for them to go to work.

But jokes on the alarm, they've already been hard at it.

.

.

When she asks for love, he gives it to her — even if they're in the shower, halfway between dirty and clean, partially soaped and partially slippery:

He's slammed her up against the glass and tiles. Her feet struggle to find resting places but they settle to wrap around his sturdy waist. Her arms hang around his neck and she pulls herself close — close enough that her pointed breasts tickle his skin and that her wet hair sticks all over his neck and chest. He can't tell from the steam of the hot water and the steam of her lusty breath, but it makes her entrance that much slicker and that much easier to go all the way in at once. Her lips part and she mewls out loud before her teeth bite hard into his shoulder. He finds his balance, he finds his rhythm, and he finds the angle that makes her inhale the sharpest.

And when he thinks he's hit gold, he sets himself up and then goes.

He doesn't come first — it's hard to release when he's holding her thrashing body, writhing with pleasure, up.

But her silver tongue along the length of his cock afterward is well worth giving up the race.

.

.

When she asks for love, he gives it to her — even if the dishes aren't even cleared from the table, instead strewn aside so that she could lay back on it:

His lips are still warm from the spices of that night's dinner, but her wet center covers his mouth with an even hotter gloss. He flicks the tip of his tongue at her clit. He roughens her cunt with the blade of his tongue. She tastes better than dessert and much sweeter than an afterthought. Her thighs start to close in on his head, but he pushes her knees back down to the surface of the table, props her calves behind the backs of chairs nearby. He tests one, two, three fingers inside her glistening folds before he decides that he wants his cock inside and not his hand.

His hands defer to her breasts, and they squeeze and mold her without restraint.

She likes it hard, and it's probably better that way because he can't control himself when it comes to her anyway.

.

.

When she asks for love — regardless of when, where, why — he gives it to her.

There is no question. She's his goddess and she's his queen.

But there's a very selfish part of him, too.

It's the part of him that wants to get for every little bit he gives.

It's the part of him that wants her to beg, the part that wants her to come all the way down to her knees, the part that wants her to stare wide-eyed at him like he's a heavenly body in the night sky and like she's the white star circling him.

He wants her to worship him as he worships her.

He wants her to say his name in vain when he's slamming against her hips, cry out for him to have mercy when her clit is between his lips, shout that she wants it so hard that the next day she's sore, tell him that she wants to sin — if even just only once more.

He does everything in his power to grant her desires, and while he's nowhere near almighty — she gasps praises, she moans appreciation, she sighs satisfaction — when she comes, he thinks that having her is plenty good enough.

* * *

three hundred words turned into nine hundred words. just porn. no plot.

i disappoint myself so much.

always ending up writing more than she expects,  
 **thir13enth**


	3. cliche

**prompt:** butterflies **  
notes:** in which i make sex more aethically pleasing than it actually is

* * *

 **cliche**

* * *

What's more cliche than saying that when he saw her, he felt butterflies in his stomach?

Love at first sight, perhaps?

So be it, if he fell into the same predictable pattern as every other fairytale, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that she was nowhere near ordinary.

She had him at the moment she reached behind her to tie her long thick hair into a ponytail so that she could properly eat the pasta they ordered for dinner. She laughed then, when she noticed that he was staring, and mumbled something about her hair being annoying and something about not wanting to get sauce all over it.

To be honest, he doesn't remember much about that moment, except that he blurted she was beautiful.

He never realized that he had a thing for hair until he met her, but granted he never saw such a brilliant color of scarlet.

In fact, that night, he realized a lot of things he never realized. The fact that even after a rough break-up with Ultear, that even after a number of inconsistent flings with Sorano, he could still actually fall in love.

So what's more cliche than saying that when he saw her, he felt butterflies in his stomach?

That even now — after months of dating her, after years of being with her, after a promise of an eternity in marrying her, he _still_ feels them.

There's not really a magic to it. She simply kisses him with an open mouth, tugging his bottom lip with her teeth, before she falls down to her knees, all the meanwhile running her lips down his skin. Her mouth follows the hard creases of his tensing muscles, then the line of thickening hair beyond his waist straight to his cock. She takes the tip slowly into her mouth, sucking it graciously like she's savoring the salt of his pre-cum.

She takes her time. At this point, she knows precisely what he likes, and she doesn't need to waste energy on exploring other spots along his length, or testing just how deep and for how long she can hold him, or experimenting another rhythm of ups, downs, and arounds.

It's nothing more than the science of arousal, but he knows there has to be _something_ beyond what logic can explain that she does that makes him feel so damn _good_.

When she wraps her tongue around his erection, he feels butterflies all the way up in his stomach. He feels their fluttering wings surface to the top of his skin, brimming at the edge of his heart, burning at the base of his groin. He feels them — gentle, tickling, and soothing, yet taut, strained, and impatient — from his inner thighs to his quickening breath to the teasing sensations at the back of his head. Every time she comes down, every time she sucks harder, every time she moans, the vibrations push him close and closer to the edge, close and closer to the tipping point, close and closer to the brink of his consciousness — until he finally releases.

It's intense, it's overpowering, it's mind shattering.

It's like falling in love with her all over again — cliche as it might seem.

* * *

tfw metaphors are extended a little too far

 **thir13enth**


	4. zipped lips

**prompt:** secret **  
notes:** pffff. excuse this piece; i wrote it in lieu of smut. **miraxus,** if you squint.

 **for:** wordslinger, because writing fanfic is a much better use of our time

* * *

 **zipped lips**

* * *

It's not at all a secret that Erza is getting some.

And it's absolutely no question of who she's getting that from.

This morning is like every other:

The sun is slowly rising above the tree-top horizon, turning the pale purple clouds of the night to a bright white and spilling sharp yellow rays through the tall windows of the Fairy Tail guild house. The early birds are starting to simmer down their song, getting ready for a day's worth of seeking the various nuts and seeds of their diet and twigs and twine to fix up the patches of their nests. The raindrops left from the before-sunrise shower glisten like jewels on blades of grass outside, and the small mammalian critters of dawn scurry back into their caves to avoid any more heat from the incoming sunlight.

Inside, not a sound could be heard except for the quiet clanking of breakfast dishes being washed from inside the kitchen. At this hour, the guild members that are awake appreciate the silence before the more noisy and rambunctious half of Fairy Tail arrives at the guild house. Only soft chatter, a turn of a book page, and the occasional slurp of tea disturb the peace — and Erza's cheerful humming.

Mirajane raises her eyebrow, watching the scarlet-haired warrior dunk a bag of black tea up and down in her mug of boiling water. The requip mage has a cute smile on her face, with a pair of dreamy eyes, and a pink glow of her cheeks to match.

Mirajane knows that look — because Mirajane usually wears that expression in the morning.

Unfortunately for her, however, Laxus is still half-asleep from a late night mission out with the Thunder God Tribe.

Mirajane slinks over to the table where Erza is sitting. Erza is still in the brightest of moods, and the frenemy attitude she often offers Mirajane is completely absent.

"Good morning, Mira," she greets, with a warm smile.

"Why Erza, you seem pleasantly happy," Mirajane observes, with pursed lips.

"That I am," Erza confirms, blowing the steam off her tea before raising the hot drink to her lips.

"Perhaps something _special_ happened this morning?" Mirajane presses. "Perhaps someone special _came_?"

Erza spits her tea back into her mug.

Mirajane most definitely intends the double entendre.

"W-What? Absolutely not! No!" Erza half-stutters, half-scoffs. Her eyebrows furrow and her cheeks flush. "The weather is simply so upbeat today. I couldn't possibly wake up on the wrong side of the bed today."

Lucy, who's peering over the top of her book to listen in on the conversation from her corner of the room, covers her mouth in a silent giggle and looks over at Cana.

Cana wiggles her eyebrows and points at Erza discreetly, mouthing gossip in Natsu's direction.

Natsu turns his head to get in on the news, grinning wickedly before elbowing Gray in the ribs.

Gray snickers softly, raising a hand to silently high-five Natsu.

And Mirajane simply smiles. "I see," she says.

It's not at all a secret that Erza is getting some every night.

But the fact that everyone else in guild already knows, however, may be Fairy Tail's best kept secret.

* * *

teehee

 **thir13enth**


End file.
